


Give the Dirt a Little Room

by violetpeche



Category: NCT (Band), 威神V | WayV
Genre: Buried Alive, Cults, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Suicide Pact, Survivor Guilt, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 14:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21138269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetpeche/pseuds/violetpeche
Summary: Having Ten’s lips around his fingers anointed him with a sense of wholeness he hadn’t experienced since before the Accident. It was careless of Kun, but it was the most invigorated he had felt in months.





	Give the Dirt a Little Room

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this in a frenzy throughout the day after AJ said there weren't any entries for "cults" for the 2019 NCT Spookfest. I was gripped with a sudden burst of inspiration and a lot of motivation to follow through thanks to Shauna. This isn't a style I'm used to writing, but I had fun with it.
> 
> Warning that the major character death is like... it goes with the suicide pact. As much as I love KunTen, I must stress their relationship in this fic is not healthy. It's a cult and suicide pacts are not romantic. SORRY :(

Salvation. Eternal light. A new beginning.

“Welcome home,” they had said.

.

After the Accident, home was hard to define. Kun turned into a shade, a vessel lost in his own sack of flesh, waking up to Nothing, getting on the train toward Nothing, shoveling rice into his mouth to sustain Nothing. It was This, and That, day in and day out on autopilot. 

His _loved ones_ reminded him how lucky he was to be alive.

“It’s a miracle,” his mother said as she pinched his cheek. He ached from how hard she squeezed him between her thumb and forefinger. But he smiled into the pull and felt the muscle ease under her grip. “My miracle.”

Guilt consumed him from the inside out. Hollowed. Why him, of all people? What did he do to deserve a second chance? 

He tried, and tried, and tried to pull a sliver of gratitude from within, but the doubt was unrelenting. The questioning plagued every waking thought. 

.

A new Hope came to Kun in a hardware store.

It was in front of a box of washers, and he noticed the man next to him digging his hands into a box full of Phillips screws. He grabbed a handful and let them trickle between his fingers, and did it again, and again.

It made Kun’s palms itch, each clink of the tiny metal bobs like nails on a chalkboard. He glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw a long string of silver glittering from his earlobe. Kun followed the delicate slope of his jaw, up to the sweet curve of his nose. On it rested a pair of wire-rimmed gold frames, and his eyes were pinched in focus at the mound of screws that laid in his palm. His inky black hair was soft, cut short behind his ears and pushed up and away from his face.

“Did you—did you need some help?” Kun offered. 

The man turned his face, let the screws drip through his hand once more, and smiled. He looked divine, an angel. Hallowed. 

Kun’s hand trembled in his coat pocket. 

“Yes,” the man said sweetly.

As soon as the man opened his mouth, Kun felt his chest cave in, and his heart restart—_th-thmp, th-thmp, th-thmp_—faster, faster, faster. 

.

His name was Ten.

He told Kun he needed a shelf, or a mantle, something of the sort. After they walked around the store to gather the supplies Ten needed, Kun offered to help him build it. He was unsure what possessed him to make such an offer to a stranger. Maybe it was the way he looked at Kun over the edge of his glasses, or the way the back of his hand kept grazing Kun’s exposed wrist when they reached for his tools in the shopping basket, or the way he smelled like green figs and freshly tilled dirt.

Ten accepted with a polite “thank you,” and drove them to his apartment. They never did put the shelf together.

Instead, they fucked as soon as they walked through the door. Kun was dizzy as soon as his head slammed against the back of the door, the wind knocked out of him as Ten dropped to his knees. It was frantic, intoxicating, enchanting to feel every inch of himself splinter apart under Ten’s touch. Every gasp, every sigh, every moan echoed in the hallway. They couldn’t even make it to the bed, continued to ravish each other on the floor runner.

Having Ten’s lips around his fingers anointed him with a sense of wholeness he hadn’t experienced since before the Accident. It was careless of Kun, but it was the most invigorated he had felt in months. 

.

They saw each other again. Then, regularly. Often.

Kun helped Ten build the shelf. It turned out to be a part of an altar he was setting up in his living room. Above that, he mounted a large glass mirror. The frame around it had hand-carved daffodils etched into the soft cedar and covered in gold leaf.

After he lined up the candles and draped a silk cloth onto the floor before it, he told Kun the mirror was a gift, a portal to a better world. 

At first he thought he was joking, but he realized Ten was entirely serious as he struck a match to light each wick. But Kun listened. He listened with caution, and reverence. Ten perched before his altar with a siren’s song and sang everything Kun had been yearning to hear.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Ten whispered, eyes as wide as saucers. “Peace, for eternity.” 

It’s all Kun ever wanted. And there Ten was: offering it to him on a silver platter.

.

Over time, Kun started to feel the vacuous void begin to refill. 

He woke up with Ten, warm in his arms, abandoned trains for a bike, and savored every dish he shared in the evenings. Every evening they’d always be sure to leave a helping of their dinner on the altar, lest the portal open.

Ten introduced Kun to his family; a group of 30 people, all paired into couples, who welcomed Kun with open arms.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” Taeyong greeted. He, too, was mesmerizing with a piercing gaze. “We’ve been told many wonderful things about you.”

.

On the darkest day of the year, Ten and Kun met their family at the top of a mountain, two hours outside of the city. 

There, they met in the center of a clearing, a faerie ring with a freshly dug hole in the center of it. Each member was shrouded in white linen and a red veil covering their face. They gathered around the pit, barefoot in the dampened earth, each armed with a fat, black candle cradled between their hands. 

The wind stilled.

Ten took Kun’s hand and let them to the edge of the hole, and knelt. He carefully placed his candle to his right, and took Kun’s from his trembling hands. Kun knelt, opposite to Ten, and settled his hands in his lap. He could barely make out Ten’s eyes in the candle light.

“Brothers and sisters,” Doyoung shouted. His voice echoed against the trees. “We have gathered here today out of love.”

A pyre was lit in the middle of the clearing, several feet away from the open pit, flames illuminating every corner of Ten’s face. In this light, Kun saw the quick, shallow breaths in and out of Ten’s chest. He offered Ten his hand and gave it a simple squeeze to keep them grounded. He wanted nothing more than to lean forward and say:

“We don’t have to.”

Instead he listened to Doyoung lead the hymnal to the Moon of the East. He couldn’t let doubt in now.

Vows were exchanged between them, and other members of the family. It was a promise to carry their message into the Better World as they genuflected towards the Moon of the East. Each member walked by to douse the two of them in frankincense oil. They sealed the union between them with an exchange of gold pendants they pinned to each other over their hearts. They were shaped like daffodils that glistened under the flames that raged from the pyre.

Kun stood first and led them down, down into the hole, where they took each other’s hands once again. Ten ripped off his veil and surged forward to press his lips to the corner of Kun’s eye. His hands gripped at Kun's shoulders, nails digging into the linens wrapped around his shoulders.

Before he leaned away, Kun heard him whisper, “I don’t want to forget you.”

He nudged Ten onto his side and laid out beside him. He grabbed Ten’s veil to tie back over his nose. The dirt was soft and wet, like a pillow on a riverbed. It smelled like the cologne Ten wore the first time they met. 

He wrapped an arm around Ten and pressed his palm into the small of his back to bring him closer. Ten cradled into his embrace and rest his forehead against Kun’s.

“Don’t worry, love,” Kun whispered back. “We will have each other forever.” He felt the first clump of dirt fall onto his thigh as he tucked a strand of Ten’s silvery hair behind his ear. “In every lifetime.”

The family sang at the top of their lungs as they shoveled the earth back into the pit. The sound of the falling dirt mingled with the soft puffs of air that fell from Ten’s mouth. Kun pulled him closer and smiled.

Salvation. Eternal light. A new beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Agnes Obel's "[Poem About Death](https://open.spotify.com/track/09rVATgicQHlKD8FErpodd?si=GLciMLRXQ1i48fgdikP_nA)". I've been listening to it a lot lately, and at the very end of the song she whispers, "give the dirt a little room." Really haunting. Very pleased I was able to weave it into a little ficlet.
> 
> This was written on the fly in one day between writing emails at work. Deeply inspired by WayV's new teaser image for Take Over the Moon. Super excited for a WayV comeback!! 
> 
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/johntographique) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/violetpeche)


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